


Maroni

by doctormissy



Series: 9 Days Christmas Writing Challenge [13]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: 9 Days Christmas Writing Challenge, Christmas, Christmas Shopping, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 03:48:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9105388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctormissy/pseuds/doctormissy
Summary: For certain people, Christmas meant the time to crawl out of their hideout outside civilisation for a moment and enjoy the enthralling beauty of the crowded metropolis where no one could recognise their faces among a million tourists and passer-bys.Or, Hannibal and Will visit Christmas markets in Vienna.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Part 4 of my 9 Days Christmas Writing Challenge. As if HanniHolidays weren't enough, I had to write this too. But I promise this thing is better than the pointless drables :)
> 
> Also turns out I'm excellent at crossing my own word count limit (2K), so let's just pretend it didn't happen and the limit is 3K all along, yes?

Christmas. For most people, it was time of family gatherings, happiness, thankfulness, forgiveness, selflessness, and wishes come true, among other things. As other things, you could count shopping, baking, and colourful lights, for instance, but that belonged elsewhere. 

For certain people, Christmas meant the time to crawl out of their hideout outside civilisation for a moment and enjoy the enthralling beauty of the crowded metropolis where no one could recognise their faces among a million tourists and passer-bys. 

And it was also time of miracles. 

It was relatively safe, Hannibal assured Will. Although, the alarming _relatively_ at the back of his mind wouldn’t leave him to rest until the trip was over. He still was not hundred per cent certain if it were a wise decision to show themselves to the world as of yet. 

The pink and not yet entirely healed scar marking Will’s cheek lurked from beneath the edge of his beard, waiting for people to notice. The image of it reflected in the car window, and Will could not stop thinking about what it had reminded him of. 

It was a souvenir from the night they had vanquished the Dragon, forever there, forever disturbing. The beard covers it almost entirely, Hannibal said. People are always in rush, they will not catch sight of it, Hannibal said. You are beautiful, Hannibal said. 

Hannibal talked a lot. It was his profession. Did any of that help, though?

They passed a sign announcing they had entered the city of Vienna. They couldn’t very well turn round and go back to their cabin in the middle of snow-covered Alps now. At least it would be dark soon. That was promising.

As if Hannibal smelled the concern on Will’s mind, he averted his gaze from the road before him, and turned to the man in the passenger seat. 

“Stop burdening your mind with possibilities that will never occur, Will.” He knew what he was thinking of. He saw it in his eyes, probably. “Focus your mind on the good things.”

 _Good things._ Easy to say. His mouth stretched into a half-smile. “Sometimes, you are too optimistic for this world.”

“There is only truth on what I say,” he replied in a second, matter-of-fact. He had to look back at the road. There was a semaphore and a shining red on it. “There is no need to worry.”

 _If you think so,_ crossed Will’s mind. He did not say it aloud. For awhile, he remained silent, and then he said, too as a fact, “You’ve missed your gourmet stores and liveliness of the city. Ever since we’ve arrived here.”

A green light replaced the red one. Hannibal set off again. He clicked his tongue. “Yes, I have. But that is not the point.”

“Then what is?” Will turned to look at him for the first time during the ride. Hannibal’s eyes were nothing but concentrated. 

“It’s Christmas, Will,” he answered as though it explained everything. These days, it did. 

Why are you suddenly playing Silent Night? You don’t like the song. _It’s Christmas._ Why do you want to go cross-country skiing? _It’s Christmas._ What do we need spruce branches for? _Decorating them. It’s Christmas._

“Momentary abreaction will only do us good. Going to the markets, buying something for the sheer pleasure of it, walking among the lights – that all can make us forget about our onerous life and remind us what it used to be like to live a regular one.” 

“We never had a regular life, Hannibal,” Will pointed out. They couldn’t have, even, not with the jobs they have chosen. And well, everyone knew who Hannibal Lecter was. Anything but regular. 

And he, of course, had a reply to that too, “Then it can remind us what it would be like to have one.”

He was right. Damn right. Life on the run was more than difficult; they had to create aliases and fake credentials, they had to constantly look over their back, they had to live in the shadows, never going further than to the nearest grocery shop, and only for a while. The lack of FBI offices in Europe did not mean they couldn’t be watching. This was their first trip since the escape. 

Tall skyscrapers of the modern UNO Stadt shining in afar and lots of tower blocks in the vicinity changed the dull view from the windows into a tiny bit more interesting one. 

“I guess you’re right,” admitted Will, albeit still feeling unsure. He shifted in his seat nervously. What if—?

He really did not want to think about it. He focused on the buildings outside instead. He loved European cities and landscapes and how different from his home yet still the same everything looked. 

We’re just tourists, he told himself. Just tourists. No one will pay attention to two more men in the crowds. 

That comforted him enough to stop reflecting about what might or might not happen. His mind felt like empty, then. 

The hum of the engine accompanied by the view was oddly relaxing.

 

Hannibal parked their car right in the centre, after he bought a ticket. He has found a spot near Maria-Theresien Platz. 

“You must live, Will,” he told him when getting off, sensing the reluctance radiating from him. Yes, he must live. And that began here.

He got off the car as well. For the first time in a while, he took a deep breath of the sharp winter air that burnt his nostrils as he inhaled. The wind was no lighter than the Alpine; it winnowed his hair in all directions. He felt the need to wrap himself up in his coat and scarf tighter. But he couldn’t.

Hannibal locked the car with a beep. He looked round himself, eyes narrowed. 

The square was unusually busy for a Wednesday – but then again, it was one of the places that drawn tourists the most for its abundant Christmas market famous all over the world. There were families, couples, friends, all tootling around, observing, chatting, buying decorations or sweets, drinking punch. 

There were also armed policemen, after the Berlin attacks. Yes, they had heard about that. No, Hannibal definitely had said nothing about eating terrorists killing innocent people instead of putting them to prison, if they were captured and dealt with at all. Will tried not to look at them, not to raise any suspicion. But what could ordinary Austrian policemen know. Nothing. 

He could recognise several different languages, too. German, mostly, but he caught a snippet of a dialogue between two French people and heard Russian from somewhere behind them. A group of English tourists just passed their car. There were also many people speaking in various Slavic tongues, which Will could not know, but Hannibal surely would.

(He did. They were Polish and Czech or Slovak, he informed him. He was not sure of those two for the similarity of the languages, he informed him. Will did not care.)

“Come on,” Hannibal prompted him by putting a hand on the small of his back. He was used to that by now, touches. In public. If he were gentle an unobtrusive. 

The hand lingered for a little longer. Will could feel the spot warm. He told himself to relax and at least put on a feigned smile for the audience. 

The almost visible Christmas spirit filling the air penetrated his body to the bones with every step toward the first punch stand, and helped him significantly. The incredible smells of foods and drinks wafting from all sides even more so.

“The day is all yours, Will. Do not hesitate to buy whatever strikes your mind, if it is a pointless trinket or a kilogram of sweets with too much sugar you know I would strongly disapprove of. You deserve it,” Hannibal said, and it was unlike him more than anything he had ever said before. “Just for today.”

Will got an idea – and for the first time, he felt excitement about being in Vienna, for he did have a general idea of what he could find there. And what Hannibal disapproved of. 

The fear retreated to his subconsciousness; nonetheless, it was omnipresent, perpetual. It won’t go away. 

Yet somehow, “Spoiling me, are you? Fattening me up with sugar so you could shove me in the oven and make a roast of me?” Will joked, and earnestly laughed. He was painfully aware he was playing with fire, because he _knew_ what he was alluding to, yet he could not help himself. That sentence was straightforward yelling _make a cannibalistic joke á la Hansel and Gretel, you know you want to_. And he couldn’t shut it up. 

Dark jokes were a part of their eternal game. 

“Yes, because that is all I desire, my dear.”

Will returned to the accustomed tense state. At that moment, only God knew what was on Hannibal’s mind; he pronounced the response in absolute seriousness. Will dared not to look him in the eyes, fearing of what might reflect in them. He laughed, and watched Hannibal’s mouth twitch into a smile as well. 

“Anything, you say?” he asked as he came to senses. It was hard to think of what he might want. Everything and nothing. 

“Indeed,” he affirmed, looking at each stand’s goods himself. Nothing seemed to have caught his attention for long. “But keep on mind there still are many other places we are to visit later.”

Even so, a promise was a promise. 

When they approached a stand selling kitschy glass ornaments, he decided they had to have that one shaped like a sitting golden retriever to decorate the bundle of spruce branches in a ceramic vase Hannibal had brought as substitute for a proper tree. And since Hannibal had said they had had enough of money to spend, he took one proud silver stag as well. It reminded him of Abigail.

Hannibal did not stay behind. He bought some incense at a stand near the Kunsthistorische Museum. Old memories, he said. He purchased the finest Chinese green tea, because the shop in the village nearest to their habitat had only sacheted one that tasted like dust and fustiness. And when he set foot near one of the stands with piles of home-made bratwursts, he actually engaged in (rather long) conversation with the butcher in fluent German. 

Will did not understand much of it, but from what he caught, they were talking about the right spices and what parts of certain animals were the best to make the most savoury sausages. 

For a moment there, he wondered whether Hannibal talked about animals or it were metaphors created by his twisted mind he had fed him and his colleagues for so goddamn long.

So much for inconspicuousness. 

The worries hidden in the back of his mind began to creep into his thoughts once again. He did not like it whatsoever. 

He stepped closer. “Let’s just go, Hannibal. I want to go,” he whispered, putting it as subtly as he could, although the rising trepidation was still audible in his voice. Only he could hear it.

Hannibal apologised to the butcher, said few last words, and bought four bratwursts of two different kinds. He did not blame Will for wanting to go. He knew that he needed time, that he felt strongly uncomfortable still. 

They moved on, leaving other customers greedy after sausages to their business. 

A woman with a basket of red roses suddenly appeared from nowhere, and crossed their path. She muttered something very fast, attempting to coerce them to take a flower. It appeared innocent – except she would want money right after she would shove it in their hands. Will knew, Hannibal told. Pathetic.

He had told him to never take the rose, too. Nonetheless, now facing it himself, he did not hesitate to take the reddest of roses he could find. He promptly handed the woman a 2€ coin. Will thought it for foolish, and wondered what made Hannibal change his mind so suddenly – until he was being handed the flower with a heartfelt smile. 

“For you, Will.” He blushed. Honestly, blushed. He was quite wordless at the moment.

He accepted it, and smelled it as an automatic gesture upon receiving a flower. It did not smell like roses normally did at all. It was winter; it was raised in a greenhouse, obviously.

“Thank you, Hannibal. Not just for this,” he waved the rose in the air, “for, you know, listening to me.” Because frankly, the rose was more of a nuisance than a pleasure. He had nowhere to put it, and it will probably die before they return home. 

_Did he call the cabin home, now? He did not know what it was. What this life was. Something not yet labelled, undiscovered._

Hannibal gazed into his eyes more intensely; it made Will slightly uncomfortable. He has gotten used to those eyes, but a minute of ceaseless eye contact was a bit too much to bear. His brain told him to _look away, look away, look away._

He did not.

“Will.” Hannibal’s voice was so soft. He actually found himself being fond of how his name sounded rolling on his tongue. “Do you not realise I would do anything for you?”

He did. Oh, he did, and it hurt. He could not describe why, exactly. 

“Let’s just go somewhere else,” Will said after a second of silence. He evaded the answer to that question on purpose. He feared what answering it might change. 

He began to walk toward the road in front of them, and that felt like a stab to Hannibal’s heart, even if he did not intend to do that.

Hannibal caught up with him, and together they walked to the city hall where the biggest and brightest market took place. Will did not allow Hannibal to slip his hand into his this time. He was afraid. 

 

On the way, they got hungry. It were hours since breakfast, after all. Hannibal knew everything, tasted everything, and Will was a case of the opposite. Everything was quite new to him – Christmas markets in New Orleans or Washington really were not the same. 

He wished to try a bite of everything, once the anxiety allowed him to relax again. 

Being familiar with all tastes of Vienna, Hannibal resorted to a stand with steaming baked potatoes that informed everyone of the place of their origin by fifty metres, that delicious the smell was. His grandmother used to make him the same dish when he was little, and he has always eaten it when visiting the markets to honour her memory. He told  
Will that too, this morning.

The same stand also sold Maroni, baked chestnuts. Will had those before, so he obtained a cornet to occasionally steal a piece from while looking for something richer to eat. 

Upon an offer of a piece, Hannibal confessed he hated baked chestnuts. That was a first – mark the day, everyone. Really, there were only few things on this world that man would not eat – cup soups or frozen vegetables, for instance – and learning that specialty was among them made Will laugh nearly as much as the roast joke. 

“If you really hate baked chestnuts, then I dare you to eat one.”

Will meant it, the look in his eyes told so. Oh, how the roles have reversed. 

“No, Will, I am not eating one,” he refused. He was stubborn. So was Will. This could go on for a very long time.

They slowly moved along the rows of stands, carefully dodging other visitors. Will sighted a place where they sold large pretzels of all flavours. The pizza ones looked especially appalling; he would buy one only to have Hannibal complain about his feeding habits of a typical American. Takeaway and fast food snacks above a proper hot meal as he had, he would probably say. 

But first, “Yes, Hannibal, you are, and I dare you to. You have to.” 

When he received only something as an exasperated pout, Will tried different tactics. “Not a while ago you said – I quote – I would do anything for you, Will. That includes eating a damn chestnut when I tell you to.” 

He was actually surprised with himself for an unexpected ability to say that with a solemn face.

Well, that was a bulletproof argument. Hannibal seemed to have no other option than to accept his fate and put that thing in his mouth obediently. He reached for the cornet in Will’s hand, and pulled one nut out. 

“Why do you hate them, actually?” Will wanted to know. He took one as well, and made ridiculous yum-yum sounds while chewing solely to annoy him. 

“As a matter of fact,” he replied, “I haven’t the faintest idea.” Then, he put the chestnut in his mouth, and bit. The look on his face spoke for itself. A wide smile reached Will’s eyes and beyond. 

Will waited for him to swallow, and only then proceeded forward, to the pretzel stand. Hannibal followed hot on his heels with one word “Satisfied?”

The answer to that was simple. “I will be after I buy this giant pizza pretzel and a sugar apple on a stick.”

 

If the point of the trip was to make them forget about the scars on their bodies and souls and pretend they had a regular life for a while, they could call the mission accomplished as they stood at a small wooden table with a shoe-shaped mug of mulled wine (Will) and a very strong plum-and-chocolate gourmet punch (Hannibal; and it was its actual name) that warmed their gloved hands and looked at the glowing light decorations embellishing the trees that contrasted the dark night sky so wonderfully.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!  
> Kudos and comments are _life_.


End file.
